


Steady as she comes and goes

by Beppi



Series: And all the world for you my love, if only I get to watch [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge, Burlesque, Coming Untouched, Cuckolding, Facials, Human AU, Lapdance, M/M, Masturbation, Moulin Rouge AU, Sexual Fantasy, Stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 06:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beppi/pseuds/Beppi
Summary: Moulin rouge AU / Mr Brightside AU / Human AUIt's been a week, and a lonely piano man sits in his room instead of out in the crowd to watch tonight's performance. Crowley is wishing and wanting and keeping busy.(Another PWsomeP)





	Steady as she comes and goes

It was another evening after the performance, and contrary to the regular routine, Crowley was sitting alone instead of catching the last parts of tonight’s show. 

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to visit the Angel’s room again since that night, but his heart yearns regardless. Wanting what he can’t have, wanting those eyes and hands on him instead of whichever gentleman was the lucky recipient of the Angel’s attention tonight. 

Crowley’s mind flashes through all manner of activities that could be lined up for the  _ evening _ entertainment. A quiet dinner to end with the Angel trembling in some other gentleman’s lap, or perhaps his Angel was the dessert, to be suckled and teased until he came over and over again. It could be his Angel putting on a private show before the gentleman pulls him in to sit on his lap, putting that skilled, beautiful body to a more intimate use behind closed doors. He sighs in frustration and throws himself into a chair. 

He was in his room, and alone.

Crowley bites his lip, fingers hesitating at the band of his trousers, lightly running them over the edge where fabric meets flesh. His mind turns over his last encounter with the Angel, the way those eyes had locked onto him, pinning him, and he draws a sharp breath. To have those eyes on him again, to be the center of his Angel’s attention for  _ once _ ...

It would start with him in a room, he decides. Crowley would be sitting in the chair, eagerly waiting for a private show from his Angel. Somehow, he would be lucky enough to be chosen for it this evening, picked from the crowd again as their eyes meet magnetically. ( _ He could only hope his Angel was drawn to him the way Crowley was _ )

The room would be dark, as Crowley wet his lips in anticipation, eyes straining to see any glimpse of his Angel. And then there he would be, with a clack of heels and a rustle of feathers that sends an electric shock down Crowley’s spine. 

_ Fishnets _ , Crowley decides.  _ Fishnets running up those beautiful legs _ . An Angel in this fantasy, but one sent to test him, to test his moral resolve in the face of something so deliciously  _ tempting _ . This Angel would wear black heels that shine in the dim light, the fishnets wrapping and twisting patterns up calves. Crowley whimpers as he thinks of two milky thighs that disappear under two large, white feathery fans held in front of the Angel, teasing and hiding the rest of his body from view.

_ Not allowed to touch either, _ he thinks and he pants, fingers fluttering over the top of his trousers above his hardening cock. The Angel would peek at Crowley from under fluttering lashes, a sly smirk on his face, pinning the piano man in place like some kind of prey. Gone was the usual innocence and air of propriety, this Angel struts out slowly and purposefully towards Crowley with a wicked look in his eye. He tilts his head back, groaning as he imagines those legs carrying his Angel towards him, large feathers like wings obscuring the rest.

_ Steady as she goes… _

Crowley pictures the way those hips would sway their way into view, feathered fans bouncing with each step. The way his Angel would flash a slip of skin, a glimpse of his ass, designed to keep Crowley on the edge of his seat. After the Angel steps right in front of him, close enough to touch, he would flutter those fans like quivering wings and draw them aside, finally giving Crowley a glimpse of the outfit before the wings are snapped shut again. A flash of sparkling panties that curved up this Angel’s ass, almost sheer in some areas. A twirl and another quiver of wings before the Angel reveals the rest of his outfit with a flutter. A collar that wraps around his neck beautifully. A sheer top that stops just above his chest. And finally, a black embroidered corset stark against the skin and covering too much, too  _ much _ . If only he could just lean forward, and  _ touch _ .

_ … Your friends have shown a kink … _

_ … You’ve had too much to think ... _

But this Angel twirls away, giving him an admonishing look, no,  _ Dismissive _ , as if he could read his mind and thought he was better than the likes of Crowley. Holier, and purer than Crowley ever was, and if Crowley wanted to touch him then he’d have to get on his knees and  _ beg _ . 

But Crowley sits, hands clenched on the tops of his knees and trying not to fall forwards from eagerness ( _ And he mirrors that pose now, groaning as he draws his fingers away, can’t help but give a buck of his hips at the loss of contact _ ). This Angel would brush those feathers up the length of his body, pleased, perhaps twirling just close enough for Crowley to catch a tickle of them before drawing away. Could hear this Angel praising him,  _ Good boy _ , for behaving so well and keeping his hands to himself, even if they shake.

_ … Steady as she goes (steady as she goes) ... _

The Angel struts away from him, giving one knowing glance over a shoulder before turning around and snapping the fans open with a sultry look on his face. He frames a rolling chest with fluttering fans that pull apart and twirl to settle at the small of his back, feathers fanning out behind him like a peacock. Crowley takes a sharp breath as the feathers would start trembling, then jerk. 

And jerk, and jerk. 

Sliding his eyes to the Angel’s face, he would be wearing a lust-hazed expression, soft lips dropped open. Each jerk would send the motion through the Angel’s body, as if… And Crowley groans loudly, desperately, hips bucking and a shaking hand running its way through his hair for lack of anywhere acceptable to touch.  _ As if someone had their hands on his Angel _ , pulling his hips flush against theirs, solidly pounding him with each jerk. The Angel’s tongue, pink and soft and shiny in the dim light sits prettily in his mouth, but his hooded eyes are trained on Crowley, knowing he’s got the piano man’s full attention. Knowing that Crowley is burning at the implied sight of someone else fucking him, and shame is a smoldering fire to the lust the sight ignites in him instead.

_ … You’ve found yourself a friend that knows you well … _

Crowley runs his hands down his thighs, then. Hips rolling and bucking futilely into the air, but he returns his hands back to the tops of his thighs, keeping them still and chaste.  _ A good boy, _ he thinks desperately, he wants to be  _ good _ for his Angel, wants to be worthy. And he thinks this Angel  _ would _ be pleased that he’s managed to restrain himself at the display. Would reward him by lifting those wings aside and up, hands above him like they’re pinned, and strutting closer to let Crowley have a close, long look at him, hips swaying like a lovely pendulum. 

The Angel would walk towards him slowly, sensually, letting him ache and  _ lust _ over his body, tempting him to touch. Letting him lust over stockinged legs that Crowley wants to bury himself between. Letting him lust over that slip of bare skin between corset and top that Crowley salivates at getting his mouth on. Over the entirety of this Angel’s body that he just wants against him, above him, and if the mental image of this Angel riding him shamelessly is a blasphemy that could send him to Hell, Crowley thinks he would burn for eternity.

Crowley’s skin feels hot, hotter still when this Angel draws just close enough for Crowley to reach ( _ and god the urge was strong, he’s aching to touch, to be touched _ ), before spinning around to wrap himself in feathers again. He flutters those pure, white wings, bending over agonisingly slow before drawing them apart to reveal a perfect ass peeking out from under sheer panties. The Angel gives a cheeky look over his shoulder, then wiggles, and Crowley could feel a noise of desperation bubbling in his throat. The noise escapes well and truly when the Angel straightens and starts walking to Crowley’s right. He tries to follow the sight with his head, but eventually his Angel walks out of sight and he can only whimper in frustration.

_ … But no matter what you do … _ _   
_ _ … You’ll always feel as though you tripped and fell … _

There’s suddenly a hand in his hair, and Crowley scarcely has time to inhale before his head is pulled back with a  _ yank _ and his mouth falls open, eyes wide. He feels his heart stutter and fall and burn and  _ anything _ , he’d do  _ anything _ for his Angel, would  _ let _ this Angel do any little thing to him.

The Angel draws close knowingly, cupping his face with the other hand as he draws Crowley into his bosom. Those fingers flutter across his cheekbone, before lightly trailing down the side of his face and resting around his throat with a gentle squeeze, possessive, and Crowley’s breath hitches and he’s dizzy with the desire that shoots through him like an electric shock. ( _ His hands scrabble at his thighs and his cock strains against his trousers. He bucks uselessly and keeps his hands where they are. _ )

His eyelids would flutter, drunk on lust, as he gazes up into the smug, adoring gaze of his Angel. Would gasp when his Angel blows a kiss at him before pushing his head back into position roughly, and Crowley spends a moment just panting. His pants would be tenting uncomfortably ( _ like they are now _ ), and he could feel the dampness of precome starting to soak ( _ like it is now _ ), but helpless to relieve himself until this Angel allows him to. And this Angel seems nowhere near _ allowing _ him to, would make him wait, and watch, and ache, and fuck,  _ fuck _ .

_ … Settle for a world (Settle for a world) ... _

_ … Neither up or down (Neither up or down) ... _

When the angel walks back into view, Crowley is ready to fall on his knees and beg,  _ grovel _ if he needs to, begging for permission to touch, to please, to come. But of course, this Angel doesn’t even pay his desperation mind, casts one disdainful glance in his direction instead, as if to say  _ Behave _ and it simultaneously knocks the wind out of Crowley and makes his dick twitch violently. 

Dismissed, Crowley rolls his hips like a desperate whore, and watches as the Angel comes to stand in front of him, the two feathered fans, shut now, held in each hand and the Angel is so close he can feel the cool air as those feathers move, a gentle stirring, a wisp of a breeze that hits Crowley’s overheating skin. Crowley pants, aching, but it does absolutely nothing to quench the fire burning him up inside out.

Burns hotter still when the Angel reaches out, and draws one feather down the side of his face, down along his collarbone. But he doesn’t stop there and Crowley swallows dryly. The feather travels further on, torturously slow as it drags down the centre of his chest, and lower, and lower, and Crowley takes in a shuddering breath, eyes growing wide and frantic. He looks up and the Angel’s gaze is electric in itself, so focused and hungry on him and Crowley can’t help but arch into the feather, knees falling open and gripping the sides of his seat for some kind of lifeline because he is truly in  _ freefall _ now. 

Heedless ( _ or maybe not. No, this Angel would know  _ exactly _ what he was doing _ ) the Angel draws the feather lower still, pushing harder now so the pressure is more insistent. He would trail the feather down Crowley’s abdomen then loop, further down, then loop, a coy dance that makes him want to thrash. Constantly getting closer to where Crowley wants attention most, but shying away at the last moment in a way that leaves him ready to well and truly beg the Angel for benediction.

It’s been eons, or maybe years, possibly minutes and most probably seconds, and Crowley is on the verge of tears, mouth moving in silent words, a litany of prayer.  _ Please Angel, let me touch you, let me take care of you, worship you. Please, let me show you how good I can be, how good I can make you feel _ . And oh, Crowley could drown in the electric blue of his Angel’s eyes if he would just let Crowley  _ serve _ .

He whimpers pathetically when the feather is finally drawn to the bulge of his pants, but ever cruel, his Angel circles where he would be most sensitive and continues his game of teasing Crowley to maddening heights. Crowley doesn’t think he can take much more, and when the Angel draws the touch away, only to return with a solid  _ tap _ right at the head of his dick, Crowley almost loses himself right there. It was a minor miracle he didn’t. 

He’s a burning mess, and everything is fire. He’s too hot and the air sings against his skin. His lungs feel constricted and every breath is a gasp. He looks up, and the Angel seems pleased, hooded eyes and a ravenous smile eyeing his body and Crowley feels undressed and naked and vulnerable before him. Feels pinned, heart thumping, and the Angel advances, tossing the feather fans away carelessly. He walks forwards into Crowley’s space, and Crowley opens and melts, pliant as the Angel delicately steps between his knees, each brush of skin simultaneous scorching and a balm. He steps over those long, sprawled limbs to stand against Crowley’s hips, then settles himself right on his  _ lap _ .

Crowley’s brain almost short circuits.

_ … Sell it to the crowd (Sell it to the crowd) ...  _

_ … That is gathered round (That is gathered round) ... _

The contact of the Angel’s rump on his hard dick feels  _ heavenly _ . ( _ Crowley gasps at the thought, but stays his trembling hands. His Angel hasn’t said he could touch himself yet, not  _ yet) The Angel purrs, leaning close with a wiggle that makes Crowley’s jaws go slack, the heavy, warm sensation on his aching dick overwhelming now after such a long time just  _ aching _ . Crowley imagines fingers walking their way up his sides, coming to a rest on his cheeks as the Angel leans in close enough to kiss.

_ Good, good boy _ he would purr, and Crowley would be transfixed. Would be utterly helpless, as the Angel leans back and braces one hand on Crowley’s leg as the other trails down his rolling body, each roll ending with the Angel’s ass grinding down on his dick and he doesn’t know how much more he can take, whimpers falling freely from his mouth, his body a roaring inferno of sensation now.

Not breaking eye contact, the Angel would straighten, hands coming to the top of the corset before undoing a fastening and slowly,  _ slowly _ unzipping the thing. Crowley whines like a damned man, tantalising view  _ just there _ , but he would have to break the Angel’s gaze and he can’t do that. 

_ … So steady as she goes, are you steady now? … _

_ Good boy, keeping so still for me _ , as the Angel rips the last bit open and discarding it off to the side, eyes flickering down to his stomach and back up, as if finally inviting Crowley to look and he does. Takes in the expanse of bare skin swelling out from under the sheet top the Angel is still wearing. The way his Angel sits so prettily in his lap with a collar around his neck. He’s still looking when the Angel grabs both his hands and settles them on his hips and Crowley holds on desperately, reverently, hands trembling as he finally gets to touch his Angel, but only this much. 

Whimpers, as the Angel shimmies back a little, and pulls on the strings holding his panties up on either side. Let’s the flimsy fabric fall, revealing his hard cock bobbing in the air with a sigh, and Crowley’s mouth salivates at the sight. 

_ A good boy deserves a little treat _ , his Angel would say, then takes his own cock in his fist. 

Crowley is trembling, taught and so tense as the Angel starts to slowly stroke himself in Crowley’s lap, each little mewl and pleased sigh hitting Crowley square in the chest. He’s trying so hard to keep still, to not grind into his Angel at each little movement.

The Angel speeds up, breathy sighs turning to loud, shameless moans as he chases his pleasure in Crowley’s lap, seemingly lost to his own world and wholly ignoring the effect he was having on the piano man. His hips snap up, humping his own hand and the jolt of each thrust is torture on Crowley’s dick, the pressure and jostle drawing Crowley closer and closer to the edge. 

_ … So steady as she goes, are you steady now? … _

Eyes hooded, the Angel would groan as he draws closer to his end.  _ Oh, darling, dearest, watch me. Watch me perform for you _ . One hand reaches out to brace himself on Crowley’s shoulder, then travels up into his hair and the Angel grabs a firm fistful. Crowley is writhing now, legs kicking uselessly at the floor as he tries to keep his hips still for his Angel’s performance. Both of them a writhing mess, gazes locked, then the Angel bites his lips, gives two empathetic thrusts and  _ comes _ , shooting his spend all over Crowley’s face and Crowley gives a hysterical whimper. The Angel, riding his orgasm, keeps stroking and groaning, each subsequent twitch of his cock sending come spilling onto Crowley’s chest and stomach. 

Crowley lets the Angel come down from the orgasm, a moaning, languid mess. He himself is panting harshly, dick so hard he feels like he could burst but it wasn’t enough. The sight of his Angel losing himself in his lap got him  _ so close _ and now Crowley is desperate again, for that little push, that little bit more to send him over. 

_ Oh Angel _ , he’d plead,  _ Oh Angel please, please, please let me, please kiss me, please touch me. _ And his Angel would  _ giggle _ .

_ … So steady as she goes, are you steady now? … _

He giggles and pulls Crowley’s head with his grip in his hair, and brings up his messy hand. Crowley watches as his Angel licks a stripe up his palm, through the come, watches as he seems to think, then scrapes some of his come off Crowley’s face, watches as the Angel turns his gaze towards him mischievious.

Two fingers slick with come gets pushed into Crowley’s mouth and he  _ comes _ just like that, soiling his pants as he latches his mouth around his Angel’s fingers and  _ sucks _ . He was distantly aware that his hips are stuttering and twitching, tensing and untensing as his trapped dick spends itself in his pants, but his focus is on the Angel’s fingers, sucking and licking and muffling his desperate hungry moans.

The Angel pulls his fingers out with a pop, and Crowley jerks forward, chasing those fingers hungrily, but the Angel is already stepping back, a pleased grin on his face. Crowley feels lightheaded, a charcoal mess, as the Angel leans forward one last time, cupping his face with one hand and smearing the come still on his face with one thumb. Crowley gazes up, lovestruck and drunk, as the Angel places a kiss on the tip of his nose, and saunters out.

_ Steady as she goes … _

\--

Crowley collapses in his chair, chest heaving. His pants were a mess, and he marvelled at the fact that he had actually come untouched from the fantasy. He groans and runs a hand through his hair, still trembling as he comes down. 

His fantasies had, admittedly, taken on a bit of a different tone since what transpired last week, and he hides his face in his hands, face burning. He remembers the fear of discovery slowly turning into thrill as he recalled and recounted that night to himself, how the Angel didn’t seem to mind. Seemed to encourage it, almost, a peeping Tom in the walls for his after-hours show.

He had been avoiding the Angel’s shows recently out of dread and embarrassment, but his heart yearned to see his Angel again and his realisation brought him meek courage. He missed the sighs from those soft lips, the flutter of eyelashes both innocent and so filled with  _ intent _ that it almost singed Crowley's soul. He missed the performances as well, the sight of the Angel in his element and entertaining to the wild applause of his audience.

The piano man sighs, then grimaces, the sticky mess cooling now. He undoes his trousers and sits up, shucking them off. 

Well, tomorrow is another day. Another day and another performance.

**Author's Note:**

> Title, again, obviously from [Steady as she goes by the Raconteurs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7aOWIFgIZQ)
> 
> As ever, thank you so much to [Kaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazeetie), who endured a lot of my yelling about ideas <3
> 
> Also it was so much fun looking up burlesque videos for this fic! A couple of real choice ones are [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQRNMmsKwK4) and [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bn-c0wD6VDY)
> 
> Thank you for reading everyone!


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